


Different Dimensions

by agoodtuckering



Series: Doctor Who Oneshots and Stories [22]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Companions too, Deviates From Canon, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Previous Doctors are everywhere, Romance, Science Fiction, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 11:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10763124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodtuckering/pseuds/agoodtuckering
Summary: Space Pirates? Just another day. Dinosaurs? Volcanos? Near-death experiences? Nothing new. Just another adventure with the Doctor and Clara Oswald in the TARDIS. But will a collision of alternate Universes and Dimensions cause them to finally come face-to-face with the feelings they harbor for one another? Only time will tell.





	1. Chapter 1

They were running. Running and running and running — for their lives. It seemed to be good exercise, traveling with _Mr. Tall-Dark-And-Handsome_ in his TARDIS. She ran a lot, and never complained about it. The Doctor was thankful for the latter part of that statement. _Very_ thankful.

“Doctor,” she said, yanking him by the arm and tugging him into a side-hallway with her. He fell into her, holding his breath as a mob of angry “space pirates” — as Clara so cleverly called them — went running past.

“That was close,” she said, finally heaving a great sigh and sagging back against the metallic wall for a fleeting moment as she fought to catch her breath.

They did this far too often.

When would he learn that she deserved better?

She deserved a normal, Human life. Not this one — where she was always running about (with an alien for a best friend) and saving the day.

One day he’d lose her in a mess, not unlike the predicament they currently found themselves in. Maybe this was the one.

_Maybe this was it._

He eventually did the same, catching his breath with her, his back coming to rest against a metal panel as he leant against the wall beside her. “Too close,” he said. “Far too close. As soon as they realize we’re nowhere to be found, they’ll come back. They’ll come looking for us. Surely they’ll split up, maybe retrace their steps. They’ll find us, sooner or later.”

“So very optimistic,” she grumbled, beneath her breath, as a hand rose to tuck stray, wispy tendrils of hair behind an ear. He turned to her, irritation on his features. It was so clearly written there. And when he spoke, his voice was low and hushed, and he softened considerably. “Oh? And what do you suggest that we do?”

She noticed a vent nearby, which gave her an idea. “They don’t have any… weird sort of air on this ship, do they? It’s just regular oxygen or air-conditioning, I'm assuming. We’re breathing just fine, yeah? Even with your _superior_ respiratory system, as you never cease to remind me.”

Her question caught him off-guard for a moment and a brow flew upwards. “I’m not sure,” he said, eyebrows remaining furrowed. “Why do you ask? It’s just normal air flow, as far as I can tell. It feels like it, anyway.”

She was already tugging him towards the vent. She snagged the pair of Sonic Sunglasses from his hand, as he seemed a bit too dumbfounded to do it himself, and proceeded to unlock it. She set the metal screen and its panel aside before crawling, head first, into the shaft. “C’mon, then,” she called quietly to him from over her shoulder.

After tucking his Sonic Glasses away, he crawled in after her, closing up the panel behind him as best as he could manage thereafter. “I don’t know where this leads, Clara,” he told her, allowing her to take the lead. After all, he had a rather nice view from where he was.

“Stop staring,” she suddenly told him, although she was only partially teasing.

He only scoffed. “What? Clara… I’m not.” And that was all he said as he hurried after her. The TARDIS was downstairs, patiently waiting for them to make another daring escape. Could they pull it off this time? He wasn’t so sure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You lot have given me such wonderful feedback and it's been an honor. Thank you so much, to all my friends and readers. It means the world to me. I mean that. I promise the story will begin to speed up a bit after this chapter. Big, epic, disastrous things are coming. x

Despite all odds, somehow, they made it downstairs through the air ducts and into a rather large cargo bay. Deciding on being sneaky, and very stealthy, the Doctor crept out from behind a dark-colored box of K-Ration goods and took Clara’s hand.

They were almost to the TARDIS when shouting began to echo off the walls. The “space pirates” from Sudrion found them. Gunfire erupted, things were knocked over. As Clara would have said, all Hell broke loose.

“Clara, run!”

Those were the words she’d heard all too often from the man running with her. Side by side, they made a dash for the TARDIS. He screeched to a halt, unlocked the door, and threw himself inside. Clara followed, but not quickly enough. The sound of a single blaster was heard, her cry following.

The Doctor watched, in horror, as Clara crumpled and fell to the floor of his beloved ship. He slammed the door shut behind them, not knowing what else to do in that moment. Panicked, mumbling, he threw back the materialization and dematerialization levers and left the pirates’ ship. Gods knew where to.

“Clara, Clara, Clara,” he said frantically, immediately dropping down beside her and gently easing her onto her side. “Look at me. Just look at me. Pay attention to me right now.”

She was crying, expression contorted with pain. She clung to him, hoping for some relief. It was more than he could bear. Her blouse and jacket were covered in warm blood, her fingers quivering as she reached out to him.

_What if today was the day he lost her?_

With no small amount of strength, and the remnants of pure adrenaline, he eased her into his arms and hurried along to make the trek to the medical bay.

A large room, it was, with medical cots and machines buzzing and whirring away. He delicately deposited her down on a compact mattress, trembling fingers nudging the bloodied, dirty material of her blouse aside to see along her ribs. The sight alone was enough to leave him queasy.

He didn’t have the time to work on her. He didn’t have the _time._

“Close your eyes,” he said in all seriousness, gaze flickering up higher to meet hers. She was watching him, a hand on his arm. “Close your eyes for me, Clara. _Please.”_

He didn’t want her to see this.

He shook his head, beyond livid at the situation. At _himself._ Why did he keep doing this? Why on Gallifrey did he keep putting them in situations that required death-defying acts of bravery and stupidity?

He’d gotten her hurt, and much to his chagrin, he knew this wasn’t even the first time. Nor would it be the last.

He was _addicted_ to her. Addicted to being this way with her.

He flicked a few fingers, watching the golden glow dance along his skin, just beneath the surface. He brushed his fingers along her hip, to her belly. He watched, in a mix of horror and bemusement and joy, as she began to heal. It might cost him an arm, or possibly a leg further along down the line, but the risk was worth it. _His Clara_ needed him right now.

“Doctor,” she gasped, utterly shocked at the sensations filling her. Surprise, shock, anger. He was using up his own Gallifreyan magic to fix her.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t even think about it. Don’t open your eyes. Keep them closed.” Gods forbid she saw the heartache etched into his weary, ragged features.

And when it was all over, when she was fully healed, he collapsed down in the chair beside her bed. He was spent. Exhausted. Knackered beyond belief.

He didn’t even have the luxury, the _time_ to enjoy _touching_ her in such a basic, _Human_ way. Funny, that. A _Time Lord_ without the leisure and bliss of _time._

Time, time, time. Always running out. Always running. Tick, tock, tick, tock.

He felt a hand touch his cheek and he found himself leaning into the warmth it provided. “Thank you,” she simply whispered to him, still a bit winded. After a few beats passed, he found himself brave enough to cast a glimpse her way.

She moved, wincing a bit from the residual soreness, and sat up on the cot. “Are we… somewhere? We flew off, didn’t we?” She was only changing the subject and he knew it. Nevertheless, he was utterly grateful. 

He rose from his chair at the realization, running a hand through his messy, unruly curls. His eyes fell to the bloodstain in her blouse, cheeks ablaze with shame. For a fleeting moment, he stared yet said nothing, and eventually made a move to wander in the direction of the door.

“Let’s go see where we’ve landed, shall we?” His words were followed by a gentle nod towards the hall.

He did something then that he normally never did, save for a few occasions. He slipped out of his coat and handed it over to Clara. “Here,” he said. “Take that top off. Put this on. And then you can change into something else.” Ever the gentleman, he left the room after speaking. Even if a small part of her wished that he’d stayed, she was grateful.

She was sore, achy, but feeling better than she had in ages. He’d given her a part of _himself._ Rather selflessly, she might add. And she had never been more thankful. Mere words couldn’t express that gratitude.

When they reconvened in the Console Room, she found him beside the control panel with a perplexed expression. His jaw was tight, clenched. He either hadn’t heard her enter the room or was electing to ignore her presence. More than likely, it was the former. He seemed to be lost to somber, darker thoughts.

“Have you had a look outside?” she asked, huddled into his coat and enjoying its warmth and his scent, even if she _had_ just changed into a clean jumper and washed up a bit.

His eyes moved her way, expression a bit vacant. He merely shook his head. “No,” he merely said. “I haven’t dared to. Been afraid of what I might find.”

She made no move to step closer but she didn’t exactly back away, either. Nor did she slip his coat off. In fact, deep down and tucked away, in his own private thoughts, he found himself rather enamored with the idea of her nicking his clothes. The possessiveness that washed over him came as a shock, in that moment. He certainly hadn’t been expecting that. He even smiled.

A small victory, she told herself. A smile bubbled up to the Time Lord’s surface, gracing his lips. He looked rather dashing there, in his crisp, white button down and a dark waistcoat. Rather naked as well, as if his battle armor wasn’t completely in place. Yet, he made no argument to the contrary. He couldn’t. She disarmed him every time with those big brown eyes of hers.

“C’mon, then,” she said, taking his hand in hers and coaxing him towards Sexy’s doors. She snapped a finger, a single door opening. Fresh air blew over them both and his eyebrows rose.

“Earth,” he said, bewildered. “Earth.” A single finger rose in the air feeling about and detecting a gust of wind. “Year 2350. Ireland. County Westmeath, I’d say. Interesting.”

She nudged his hand and stepped outside with him. “Look,” she said, “a little cottage. It almost looks abandoned. Let’s go have a look, shall we?”  
  
He just gave her a look, as if to ask why she wasn’t absolutely shattered and exhausted by the events of the past few days and their accidental run-in with a group of pirates.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” she asked, a brow arching. “Let’s go have a look. Then, if you want, we can… leave. You can take me home. Maybe I’ll even attempt to cook you dinner. As a thank you, you know, for saving my life for the umpteenth time. C’mon…” 

Who was he to say no to her? He couldn’t bear it. He _always_ went along with her.


	3. Chapter 3

The house was empty. No one was around. They called for residents, out of pure curiosity, and that’s when it happened.

Everything began to crumble. The building, along with its structure, were falling to pieces — brick by brick, stone by stone. The foundation was collapsing and deteriorating at an incredible rate, one that had The Doctor very worried.

The sky went dark, the scariest black he’d seen in ages. It all seemed so… surreal. And perhaps it was.

The house was collapsing in on itself, almost as if a black hole was devouring it.

“Clara, take my hand!”

It pulled her from the horror for a moment, her fingers clasping his as she ran with him. They ran and ran and ran. In fact, they ran until they could run no more. She went banging into the TARDIS’ door and stopped, forehead against the wood as she fought to catch her breath.

“Why do you always suggest we go and have a look?” she said, her chest heaving, body still aching from where he’d healed her earlier. She was within moments of dying. She was beginning to realize that now. As if it had taken a while to catch up with her.

“Oh no. Don’t do that,” he said, casting an aggravated look her way. _“You_ wanted to look around, Clara Oswald. _Not me,_ for once. _You_ did.”

She began to laugh at the absurdity of it all, tugging him back into the TARDIS and closing the door behind them.

“What was that?” she asked.

One thing came to mind — a dimensional shift. He’d seen them before, but only with Time Lord technology. All the artron energy, stored up and wasting away, turning brittle over the ages, could eventually do that. If something had been malfunctioning in the electronics — specifically the electronics of a TARDIS. And it certainly wasn’t his TARDIS. So, in the end, he ruled out that theory.

“I’m not sure,” he told her, earning one hell of a look from Clara.

He always knew. He knew everything. He prided himself on that fact, or at least he certainly made it look good. With that brain of his, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he did know everything. Like a bloody Mind Palace, it was.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said. “Before that hole in the ground swallows us up too, please.”

He ran to the control panel, gave the coordinates to a planet she would fancy — Liyrus. There were creatures there, called the Kuplora, that closely resembled dinosaurs.

After all, where did Humans think the dinosaurs came from?

Maybe they could rest a bit there, admire the wildlife and just _relax._

He turned to Clara, arching a single brow and asking, “Are you alright? From earlier?” _From the healing process,_ he meant. It was no easy feat to give a Human regeneration magic from one’s self.

She came over, those big brown eyes focused on _her_ Doctor. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she said, almost sounding a bit shy now. “You saved me. I have a feeling I wouldn’t have gotten very far if you didn’t… do what you did, to save me.”

His chest was still heaving from all the running, his hair winded and cheeks flush. He took a moment to lean back against the control panel, careful not to sit on any important buttons or knobs. “You’re welcome,” he heard himself say, although the words felt foreign on his tongue and somehow, in some way, unbefitting of their enormity.

“Yes. Yes, I’m trying to thank you,” she said, thankful for his understanding as she leant in closer to him and wound her arms about his middle for a gentle hug. “It doesn’t feel like it’s enough,” she went on, “just to say thank you. But I don’t know what else to say, or how else to put into words what I’m feeling right now.”

He blinked a few times, listening to her as she snaked her arms around his torso and let her head drop to his chest. She even rubbed her cheek against the soft material of his waistcoat. And really, _how much could a Time Lord take?_ He almost kissed her then, but something stopped him.

“If you don’t know what to say,” he mumbled, “then maybe the words are better left unsaid. Just give your Time Grump a hug and that’ll be that.”

 _Time Grump._ She liked that. She often called him that, both to his own face and behind his back. And more often than not, when he was around, she was met with a disapproving look from the Doctor at her sweet nickname.

“Okay,” she simply replied, nose buried in the warm material of his waistcoat and shirt. “Do you want your coat back now?” The sleeves were so long that she couldn’t even see her fingers. He seemed to notice and snorted with amusement. “Sure,” he said, drawing away to help her out of the fabric before slipping it back onto his own shoulders.

It was like the sweetest torture, wearing that coat again — with her scent all over it. Her shampoo, her soap, her perfume. _Her._ She was everywhere now. All around him. Assaulting his poor nose and leaving him aching.

Scrunching up that nose, he said, “I need to know what we just escaped from, Clara. What was that? It was like a black hole, just eating everything in sight. It was hungry. I’ve never seen anything quite like it before…”

She put up a single finger, immediately deflating him. “Oh no you don’t. We are not going back. You’ll just have to live with not knowing for once in your very long life, Doctor. We aren’t going back. I say so.”

His eyebrows rose. “Yes, ma’am. Fine. _Fine._ You’re missing out on the chance to learn something extraordinary, but alright. Your choice. Just don’t call me up, you know, when you’re in your nineties and full of horrible regret. It’s your loss.”

She rolled her eyes. _If anything,_ she thought, _that wouldn’t be the regret that would tumble from her lips._

He snapped a finger, the TARDIS’ door opening. “Go on,” he said. “Let’s just… relax for a little while, alright? You must be exhausted.”

Well, this was certainly a bit of role reversal, wasn’t it? But, he was worried. Overwrought with anxiety and worry and ache. After all, he’d almost lost her twice today. He was allowed to be concerned, yeah?


	4. Chapter 4

They stepped out onto a field in the middle of Liyrus’ one and only land mass. Something akin to Pangaea (the super-continent that existed during the late Paleozoic and early Mesozoic eras on Earth). The creatures there, the Kuplora as they were all called as a whole, were making themselves scarce. They must have been scared off by the loud sounds of the TARDIS’ breaks being left on as it landed.

“Stop thinking about it,” Clara suddenly said, turning to cast an amused look the Doctor’s way. He arched a brow, asking, “I’m sorry?” For a moment, he thought she might be referring to his healing her. And he _was_ thinking about that. But there was also something else on his mind…

“Stop thinking about the ground eating up that little cottage,” she said, almost as if she was mentally chastising him. He frowned too before casting a bemused gaze in her direction. “Fine, fine,” he eventually said. Was she the one with the telepathic powers? He wondered, sometimes. She read him so easily.

She broke the silence again with a few quiet, murmured words. “I told you once that I wasn’t sure if you were a good man. That you tried to be, and that’s what counted.” Her gaze skirted across the grassy ground before landing on him. “You _are_ a good man.”

She stopped walking, watching his perplexed expression and the way he drew his eyebrows together. Attack eyebrows, indeed. And she wanted nothing more than to kiss them.

“You’re _my_ good man,” she suddenly said, as if realizing the words for the very first time. Her entire demeanor softened. Then she hurried along, not really giving him a chance to say anything in response.

She reached behind herself for his hand, hoping he’d take the hint without putting up a fight. He never did these days, after all. And for that, she was quite grateful.

Her took her petite hand without question, lacing their fingers together instead of holding hers as he usually did. _A nice change,_ she decided.

There was a quiet sort of intimacy in feeling someone’s palm against your own. Even more so when your fingers were entwined. And in that moment she certainly felt as if the spaces there, between her digits and knuckles, had been crafted especially so for his. For him to hold her close.

The ground was warm, the grass was green, the sky was filled with light and clouds and… smoke? Where was the smoke coming from?

The Doctor was looking around as well, a curious look upon his features.

“I swear to god, Doctor…” Her voice was filled with exhaustion now. “Can we not just come to a planet and enjoy the scenery? Why are we always running from something? Or solving some mystery? Or saving the planet from certain destruction?”

 _There,_ he thought. _My tiny Human is finally knackered._

“Maybe,” he said absently, “we’ve landed about fifty years after I had originally planned on. This planet, specifically this area, was covered in at least twenty feet of ash and molten lava. Big… changes came. Evolution came. _Life_ ended for some creatures. But some survived. Survival of the _cleverest.”_  

Clara looked utterly and completely horrified. “Doctor,” she said, tugging at his shirt sleeve to ensnare his attention once again. “Are you telling me that we landed in the middle of… their _extinction?”_

She really had to have a talk with him, later on, about being more accurate in his timing in their travels together.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But, look at it this way. We’ll be safe for a little while. Let’s stay close to the TARDIS.” His head was bent back, eyes on the sky. “Did you know that volcanic ash consists of fragments of pulverized rock, minerals and volcanic glass, all created during volcanic eruptions? Once in the air, ash can sometimes be transported by wind up to thousands of kilometers away. It’s fascinating.”

Clara, however, looked a bit less than fascinated and curious. She sat herself down upon a rock, a hand gently pressed to her side to ease the ache from earlier in the day. He seemed to notice, too, because he plopped himself down beside her and spoke softly.

“Are you alright?” he asked, almost tenderly. The timbre, the tone of his voice took her by surprise for a moment and her lashes fluttered, gaze drifting his way. “I’m fine,” she murmured quietly, although her expression said otherwise.

“You almost died,” he said rather suddenly, gaze fixed on her features. “I didn’t know what to do. Your body doesn’t know how to react, either. It’s confused because you suddenly healed. Human anatomy isn’t built for… regeneration. That’s why you’re sore. But I promise that soreness will ease by tomorrow. Maybe even after some good rest.”

She took a moment to glance his way, finding his eyes already on her. “And how was that? I could’ve cost you a leg. Or maybe you’ll be a midget next time you regenerate. The Danny DeVito of Time Lords. Now, I’d pay to see that. Truly would.”

He laughed softly, despite the ache in his hearts. “I don’t care,” he said. “I never wanted to… live this long, Clara. No one _should._ But if I could have… saved you, then that was all that mattered to me.” His voice softened. “You’re really all that matters to me.”

Had he really said those words aloud?

She blinked in surprise for a moment before asking, “How could you _not_ believe me? When I tell you that you’re a good man.”

He would have answered, probably even embarrassed himself, had it not been for the stampede of Mountain Grendels running their way at an rapid pace, all six legs giving it all they were worth.

“Clara, come on. Follow me,” he said, pulling her behind him. He jogged, tugging her along with him, until they hopped into a ravine off to the side of the flat path, where the creatures trampled on through, flattening the grass _completely_ on the way. Terrifying thought, really, because that could have been them.

Dust whipped up, flying about. The Doctor shielded their eyes with his coat, draping it over them in a moment of panic. The last thing they needed were foreign substances going into their eyes or suddenly being breathed in and blinding or paralyzing them. _One must always be careful on a planet they aren’t too familiar with._

“Do you even know what relaxing means?” she asked him, gazing up at him in the dark, from beneath his coat. She reached for his Sonic Sunglasses, turning them on to light things up a tad. He winced at the question before answering, “Maybe. It’s been a long time. I’ll try harder next time. Next Wednesday.”

Maybe she didn’t want to keep doing this. Maybe she wanted more than Wednesdays. Maybe she wanted more of _him._ What a dangerous thought and yet, she didn’t care. Not right now. Not right here, with her hands on his chest and his arms around her, protecting her from a raging stampede of six-legged creatures that looked like oxen and yowled like coyotes on the hunt.

She lived for _this._

“Those creatures were scared off by something,” she suddenly said, realization hitting her square in the face. How hadn’t the thought occurred to him? He was getting a bit slow in his old age, wasn’t he?

His eyes grew wide, eyebrows rising. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Do me a favor? Put those Sonic Specs on and follow me. They’ll protect your eyes from any dust.”

She mattered more.

Upon opening his eyes and drawing back his coat, he came face-to-face with a very, _very_ scary sight. “Okay,” he said. “We need to run. _Now.”_

She popped her head up, asking, “Why?” And when she saw it, she scrambled to her feet from her knees and dashed off. He did the same, following after her at a fast pace. “Don’t even look back, Clara,” he called to her. “Just run. Keep running.”

Insane, really. That’s what they both were. They were _barmy._

Lava was flowing from an erupting volcano, setting the ground and the grassy plain laid out behind them aflame. And so they ran, staggering into the TARDIS. For the third time today, he flew off in that blue box of his and sent them right into Earth’s orbit to remain there and linger for a while. It was the only safe place he could find at the moment.

She was fighting to catch her breath, wheezing a bit from all the dirt and dust particles. He came over, almost reaching out for her but not quite. One hug today was enough, yeah? Bad enough he had to see her half-naked.

No more touching. At least not today. _He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea._

And then, in complete contradiction with himself, he said, “Go lie down. You know where my bedroom is. Go have a lie down and take a nap. I promise you, you’ll feel better after.”

Her eyes went wide for a moment before she slunk off, exhausted and finding her way alright to the master bedroom in his beloved ship. She didn’t seem to mind, either. She even opened the door for Clara when she reached the Doctor’s room.

His room was spotless, save for a few shelves with a mountain of books lying about and a rack of guitars sat in the corner. She spotted Handles on a shelf, a jar of glowy robot bugs sat beside him. There was sheet music on a desk, Gallifreyan scribbles in an open notebook.

His bed… Oh, his bed was made up and quite cozy-looking. She dared to draw the navy-colored duvet and silky sheets back, eyebrows rising. What she wouldn’t give to have him lying here beside her…

Instead of complaining, she flopped down gently and buried her nose in his pillow, reveling in his scent and his shampoo and a hint of aftershave. Did Time Lords shave? The thought never really occurred to her before. Why did she suddenly care now? 

Perhaps because the image of him in front of a mirror, taking his time with a Gallifreyan straight razor (or whatever he used) was quite a handsome one.

Back in the Console Room, the Doctor had the TARDIS’ doors open and he was sitting on the stoop. His legs dangled, hands in his lap.

He was thinking about something besides the woman in his bed — yes, he was thinking about Ireland and the way the ground swallowed up that cottage. What a _conundrum._ He was bound and determined to convince Clara to join him after waking up later. He desperately wanted to go back.

Call it a fault, but he loved a good mystery. He couldn’t resist them.


	5. Chapter 5

All sleepy eyes and curious looks — that’s what she was at the moment. She was currently gazing at the Doctor as he tinkered away at the bench in his workshop, her arms crossed over her chest. It was a large room, with engine bits and parts strewn about. Odds and ends, that’s what she made of it all. Quite a mess.

He cast a distracted pair of blue eyes her way, briefly smiling at the state of her hair before putting his nose back in the mechanical rooster he'd lovingly named _Roger_ that he was currently working away at. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Or night. I dunno what time it is where we are.”  
  
That was very… unlike him, wasn’t it? _A fairy tale joke._ And then it occurred to her — _her hair._ It must have been something to witness, for sure. Like a bird’s nest, most likely.

Hiding a blush behind her hand, she came over to gaze at whatever it was that he was fixing on his bench.

A stray thought entered his mind and he took his clunky, rather steampunk-looking magnifying glasses off his nose, a brow arching. His eyes found her features before he speak.

“How do you feel? How is your side fairing? Does it ache?”

She merely nodded, responding softly. “It’s… better. It isn’t sore at all. Not anymore.” And for a moment, she wondered what was going through his mind.

“May I…?”

His question caught her off-guard and her blush only deepened. “I’m sorry?”

He slipped his Sonic Sunglasses on again, nudging the fabric of her warm, woolly jumper up and up until he could see her ribs. It was all he dared to look at. Nothing any higher. _Purely for medical reasons,_ he told himself. He just wanted to be sure that she was alright.

The skin was pale, lily white, and no bruises or scars marred the smooth plane. It was as if she had never been hurt at all. And he seemed rather satisfied at that.

She watched him tap the side of his glasses, listening to the buzz and whir of his little sonic contraption. Surely he saw — or even _felt_ — the way she sucked in a sharp breath at the touch of his warm hand upon her belly.

“Yes, yes, you’re just fine,” he said quietly. “Your body healed up quite nicely. I’m impressed. You’re rather healthy, you know. Excellent rib structure for a woman your age, Clara.”  
  
Was he… checking her vital signs? What else would he see? Elevated blood pressure? Rapid heart rate, or the way it would suddenly spike at his touch? Dare she say even — maybe — her arousal as well? The way her breath caught? No. _Bloody hell._

She watched, in terror, as his steely-blue gaze rose to meet hers. Did it drag across her torso? Did it linger? Was she seeing things now? What did _he_ see, anyway?

“Okay, um, yeah,” she suddenly said. “That’s enough of that. I’m just fine, yeah?” She tapped his nose like she would a puppy’s, then slipped away with an awkward chuckle. “What are you working on here, Doctor Frankenstein? What’s laid out on your slab?”

He cleared his throat. “Funkenstein sounds better,” he shot back, tucking his glasses away in a pocket. “It’s nothing, anyway. I was just finishing up a project.” He paused. “I actually... meant to ask you something.”

Her eyes rolled, a soft sigh tumbling from her lips. “Fine,” she finally gave in, cutting him off with a gently raised hand. “We’ll go back to Ireland. You think I don’t know you, yeah? Well, I do. Let’s just… have something to eat first, please. I’m starved.”

After a meal and a short break, they made their way back to the house. The cottage, surprisingly, was right where where they had left it — standing strong and with every stone in place. It was completely intact.

Clara and the Doctor shared a look of confusion before daring to wander over.

“I’m pretty sure we didn’t imagine what happened yesterday, did we?” Her question was followed by a tugging of his coat sleeve as he guided him around to the back of the cottage.

Still, no one was home. It was empty — perhaps not so utterly abandoned, but nevertheless, it was empty. No one had been living here for quite a while.

“I’m not in the habit of sharing hallucinations with companions,” the Doctor mumbled with a somewhat amused yet altogether intrigued grin. He stepped aside on the porch after using his Sonic Sunglasses to unlock the door. “Ladies first?”

She went in ahead of him with a nod of his head and they began to look around.

“I can _smell_ the amount of artron energy floating around,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, whilst thinking aloud. “Odd.”

What was, perhaps, the oddest thing — it truly seemed as if _nothing_ had been moved since yesterday. Yet, standing in this same spot in the hallway, the Doctor had watched as the ground had split in two. Had that not really happened? It swallowed this entire stone cottage, brick by brick. What was going on?

It was a puzzle. It was a mystery. And oh, he was in heaven.

“Let’s have a look around,” she said rather bravely, almost gulping after. He followed after her, Sonic Glasses resting on his nose as he peered about the walls and windows. Everything felt oddly _normal._ That was, until they heard a knocking at the front door.


	6. Chapter 6

There was a small Woodland Sprite at the door. His little arm flew out to fix the collar of his shirt as he wandered into the house after The Doctor opened the door.

Clara, looking rather taken aback, cast a look The Doctor’s way and tried not to laugh. “He’s kind of cute,” she mumbled quietly. “Did we just step into a fairy tale or something? Please tell me that I won’t trip over a glass slipper or anything.”

His eyes went rolling, although his gaze soon followed the creature down the hall. “No,” he said softly. “Where do you think all the Celtic tales came from? All the good Irish bedtime stories? All the folklore? Sprites are from Prexatania, a planet just outside of your Solar System. They came here, centuries ago, seeking refuge from their War-ridden planet. They dwell strictly here now, as far as I can tell, and are rather content to leave in peace. Humans have called them a great many names over the years — elves, brownies, pixies, even fae folk. They prefer to hide away but Humans occasionally see them, from time to time. What were true stories seemed to slip into legend. Folk tales aren’t _always_ wrong. Folklore survives in the future.”

The Doctor, still on a roll, pointed to the tiny (but currently nailed-shut) panel at the bottom of the oaken front door in the cottage. “See that? That was a door. Throughout history, Irish families would leave their front and back doors in a bee-line.”

He turned, pointing to the back door, which was in a perfectly straight line from the front door. “People would complain of noises in the night. What it was, they would say, or so they thought, was faeries trampling through their homes and trying to find the back doors. They thought their homes had been built upon Fae paths or roads. So, they just made it easier for the small creatures.”

Out of breath now, The Door slipped his Sonic Sunglasses on and said, “But, you know what is the most fascinating thing of all? They feed off of artron energy, Sprites do, and they consume it as storage in their tiny bodies to heal their injuries or to prolong their lives. They’re attracted to it. Always.”  
  
He went zooming after the creature, leaving Clara in a whirl of thoughts and questions, all of which seemed to flood her at once. “Pixies,” she said, laughing. “Faeries. Aliens. Mythical creatures. Irish Folklore. Why am I not even surprised anymore?”

She rushed after him, eventually catching up and watching as he followed the tiny creature up to the attic. “Whatever’s going on here,” The Doctor said, “he’ll help us find the answers.”

Rather abruptly, the creature turned and glared at them, as if noticing their presence for the first time today. “I don’t mean to be rude,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “But would you mind keeping it down a touch? I’m a bit busy here. I’m looking for something. You’re both distracting me. I meant no offense, but.. Humans are so loud.”

It was — in all honesty — rather comical. The Doctor’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment, a look of utter irritation crossing his features. Indignation too, perhaps. Clara nudged him gently before drawing him away from the small creature, leading him down a side hallway. If only so they could talk.

“What is artron energy?” she suddenly asked him. He looked surprised for a moment, eyebrows knitting in that way of his, showing his bewilderment, before he thought about her question.

“Arton energy,” he said, “is a form of ambient radiation that exists in the time vortex. It’s a sort of mental energy, ‘artron particles’ if you will, that can be used and utilized in a variety of ways. It can even be used to power stations or ships. Those who travel through the vortex, like you and I, absorb energy in the form of something we Time Lords call ‘background radiation.’ It’s not as bad as it sounds, I promise.”

He stopped for a moment, hoping she was following. Then he continued. “Some life forms are even made up of artron energy, Clara. And some, like our little Sprite here, feed off of it and are attracted to it, despite how dangerous it can be.”

She blinked, taking it all in and listening intently, and he added, “Artron energy is to normal energy what movements within the depths of the sea are to waves on the surface…”

Funny, that. He heard himself saying the same thing, many years ago, in a body much younger. His eighth incarnation, to be exact. That version of himself had a habit of using artron energy to make himself toast often as well. He merely smiled at the fond memories it roused and then he turned to arch a brow for Clara.

He took her by the hand, still rambling as they walked along.

“In its purest form, it’s measured in atto-omegas. Not that you particularly care. It can even alter and enhance human bodies, you know. It makes the immune system of a human better at fighting off diseases. Have you ever wondered why you never catch illnesses anymore?”

He popped his Sonic Sunglasses up to see her face, smiling softly. He was _far_ _too giddy_ at the mystery at hand. It was almost unnerving.

She asked a question then that he certainly wasn’t expecting. “What happens if… something drains it? What happens is something leeches all the energy?”

His head tilted at the notion. “Like… with the use of an artron inhibitor? That could prevent a Time Lord from regenerating. Dangerous business, Clara. Very dangerous, indeed. Best just not to bother asking.”

He walked a few paces before abruptly stopping, still pondering their conversation topic.

“Clara,” he said quietly, “artron energy is the pure source of energy used to power all TARDISes. It’s what they run on, continuously. If one was broken, leaking energy—” He stopped, not even wanting to finish that sentence.

“I came across one once,” he eventually said. “A broken TARDIS, lying about. Saved it. Sent it off to a Dark Star to give it a proper funeral. Hardest thing I’ve ever done…”

Her eyebrows were drawn together, head tilting as she appraised her companion.

“What about me? You said something earlier, about me and artron energy… About me absorbing it.” He paused, casting a look her way. “You’re swimming in artron energy,” he answered her. “You’re a Time Traveler now, Clara Oswald. Don’t look so surprised.”

Just then, a soft breeze drifted past them. He turned in time to see something rather strange, indeed. It fluttered past them, making its way down the hall.

It was Clara — a _different_ Clara, radiating in a blue glow, a sure sign of artron energy — and she trotted along down the hall with a curious expression. She was almost translucent, as if she wasn’t fully _here._

“Doctor—”

He turned his head just in time to see _his Clara_ trying to catch his attention. And now he understood why. His eleventh incarnation came toddling over, carrying a few things in his arms and wearing a broad, happy grin.

The Doctor — the Twelfth Doctor — reached a hand out to touch his other self’s arm. There was a static charge and they both stopped, staring at themselves but not _seeing._ They clearly weren’t meant to ever _meet_ each other. Or even _see_ each other.

“That was weird,” Eleven said, shaking off his shoulders and happily trotting along to follow Clara. “Hold on, you Impossible Girl. Slow down for me. My hands are full. I know we’re on our honeymoon and all, but…”

_Honeymoon._

The word stopped The Doctor and Clara short. They watched as her other self and Eleven disappeared from sight, heading off to Gods knew where.

“Honeymoon,” Clara repeated, as if to taste the word on her tongue. “That’s us. Another us. The other you. The one I met years ago. And look at us. Trotting along. _Married.”_

He pretended, for a moment, that the notion terrified him. But what Clara saw in his eyes said entirely different things. “Doctor,” she said softly. “What’s going on?”

He shook off his thoughts, saying, “I think I have some idea. And I hope I’m wrong.”

He turned, as if he wanted to go find the Woodland Sprite again. Then he stopped, eyes once again roaming to Clara. “That blue glow was a sure sign of artron energy particles floating about in the air. Something is pulling dimensions in together, folding them into one another. This could be catastrophic. Think of the repercussions. Alternate Universes could implode. Collide.”

“That was us in another reality?” she asked him, a smile finding her lips. He merely shook his head, hoping he was right about this and yet wishing he wasn’t.

Rubbing his temple now, he tucked his Sonic Sunglasses away and stepped away from his companion to go in search of the small alien creature again. Instead, he came face-to-face with the Ninth Doctor and Rose Tyler. Something in his hearts began to ache and he instantly _knew_ this wasn’t going to be easy. Just to see her again…

“Don’t look at anything else,” he said quietly. “Come along, Clara. Just look at me.”

She laughed, jogging to catch up with him. “Why? Are you worried I might fall in love with _someone else?_ I mean… They _are_ you. They’re all you, daft old man.”

He didn’t dare to stop and think about what she’d just said. What she probably didn’t even _realize_ she’d said. _‘Someone else’_ implied that she was already very much in love with _him._


	7. Chapter 7

“I have actually kissed you before,” she said. She rolled her eyes as well for a fleeting second — for good measure. Blinking in surprise, The Doctor cast a bemused look her way before responding. “I wore a different face then,” he said to her, twiddling his thumbs. “It doesn’t count.”

Her playful expression fell for a moment before she reached out to him. “They’re _all_ you. Every face, every personality. They’re _you.”_ Something about hearing her acknowledge that piece of him gave him a radiant — if not small — smile. It gave him pause for a moment as he stared at the hollow projection of them, from a different place. Another _them,_ from a different dimension, off having an adventure together.

There was a time when she couldn’t even see him. A time when she didn’t care for his _new_ ,  _aged_ face, a face that someone had frowned for him. A face that was a reminder. She couldn’t see him inside of that new body. And just listen to her _now._

She dared to cast a single brow The Doctor’s way, a brow arched in curiosity. “Don’t look at me that way,” she told him quietly — all whilst reaching a hand out to clasp his fingers in hers, needing to feel him close to her.

“Would you rather be her?” he asked, watching another version of them trot by, a version of his eleventh incarnation and her, hand in hand, laughing about something or other together and kissing softly.

Things were getting all the odder by the moment in this house. She wondered how on Earth he could just _sit_ there and _think._ He never did that. He was all _action._

Immediately, Clara’s eyes flickered The Doctor’s way, confused at his question. She knew he wasn’t asking because they were apparently a couple, of sorts, in one of the _other places._ No, he was asking because — there, in another dimension, _another reality_ — he was still Eleven. He was still the handsome young Doctor with the chin and the pocket-watch and the waistcoats. The one who could pass as her boyfriend. The one she fancied.

He needed to know what her answer would be. And it stung. It stung them _both._

“Hard question to answer,” she said playfully. “But _that_ has _nothing_ to do with with your face.”

Was she _flirting_ with him? For being well over two-thousand years old he was remarkably thick at times.

She watched as his eyebrows furrowed in shock and he cast a long look her way. For a moment, he even appeared as if he may toss a witty retort at her, but nothing fell from his lips. Nothing at all.

“We need to _do something,”_ she eventually said, tugging him to his feet. They went outside, glanced about the property. They even went into the TARDIS for some equipment.

The grand epiphany came as they stumbled from the TARDIS, a box of mechanical equipment and technology in hand. The Doctor was holding a detection device of some sort, with Gallifreyan spirals on the reader, and he went wide-eyed for a moment. He even skidded to a stop in the grass.

“Wait a minute—” He halted mid-sentence, gazing towards the house in complete and utter bewilderment and _realization._ “It couldn’t be—” Another pause came. “It _shouldn’t_ be—”

_But it must be._

Clara simply arched a sassy brow, asking, “Planning on sharing with the class, Doctor?”

He glanced her way, beginning to speak. “I can _smell_ black hole power… It leaves a scent in the air. It’s heavy and thick. It’s dark. It’s… different than artron particles. But I _feel_ the latter as well. What combines both?”

He took the box from Clara’s petite hands, ever the gentleman at the strangest of times.

“TARDISes weren’t the only Space-time vessels,” he began. “Or rather, I suppose I should say that they were different kinds of TARDISes. And to date, in my extent of my own infinite knowledge, there was only one vessel that ran off of raw, pure black hole power. They were called Time Scaphes. They were a prototype of a simpler TARDIS vessel, developed on Gallifrey by Rassilon. In those days, Gallifreyans ran vessels telepathically. Our abilities aren’t nearly as strong anymore. We couldn’t hope to do the same now.”  
  
She looked thoroughly terrified that, at the knowledge he was spewing out as the moments passed them by. Time Lord technology had that effect on people, he noticed.

“There’s just one problem,” he said, “The Prototype III, as Rassilon’s followers had named it, was destroyed. It collided with my TARDIS, many years ago, and was demolished. After I had removed the Process — the _Amphisbaena,_ a parasitic lifeform — the Scaphe was sent home to Gallifrey. But…”

She was still reeling from his explanation of the _Process._ Little did she know that the creature resembled a gigantic, terrifying leech. _Best she never know that,_ he later decided.

She just let him ramble, even if she only understood a tiny bit of what he was prattling on about. He needed something to talk over the details with.

He began walking again, still speaking over his shoulder to her in an effort to explain where his mind was at the moment, box of junk held between his hands and hoisted up to rest against his chest.

“There were many other simple Scaphes constructed, later, in my absence. They were powered by the Eye of Harmony, a _black hole power source._ Without the Eye, time travel would never have been possible for our people.”

He sighed heavily then, casting a look Clara’s way. “It’s the only explanation that makes any sense,” he told her. “There must be a Scaphe here. It could be disguised as _anything._ They had Chameleon Circuits as well. It’s dying and it’s pulling dimensions in on themselves. It’s attracting creatures that feed off of the artron energy. What _we_ need to do is find it, get inside, and send it off to a proper death, perhaps in the middle of a neutron star collision. This wouldn’t be the first _TARDIS of sorts_ I’ve had to give a merciful death. Just recently, I told you I had a run-in that required something similar. I was with Hattie, a fantastic bassist from a favorite punk band of mine. She’s a good travel companion. You’d like her, Clara. But, anyways… It deserves the best ending. A storybook ending. Something beautiful and climactic. Something worthy of a Scaphe.”

Clara reached the front door of the cottage, opening the door for The Doctor and asking, “We won’t… get stuck inside of the Time Scaphe, will we?”

He didn’t want to lie. Never to Clara. “I hope not,” he quietly told her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little thing: everything in this story, from information on Time Scaphes, to artron energy, to the events mentioned in the novel "Cat's Cradle: Time's Crucible" and some of the events in the Year Two comics for the Twelfth Doctor is all completely accurate. I tried to be careful and exact with everything. I've done so much research. The only thing that I've come up with and written creatively, on my own, is the bit about dimensions and how they're folding in (and the Woodland Sprite creatures). I hope you guys are enjoying this so far. Let me know what you think.


	8. Chapter 8

There was quite a group in the cottage now. Dimensions were overlapping, projections — albeit hollow, radiating a bright blue glow — were everywhere.

His other incarnations wandered about, along with various companions, some he recognized and some he didn’t. Other realities varied. He saw Rose Tyler, Sarah Jane, Clara Oswald, his granddaughter. The course of events had all been different, all _changed._ Only a very few were even remotely similar.

So, that was the big mystery — it was a Time Scaphe, sat somewhere in the house, combusting as they sought it out. He didn’t know how much time they had. How much time they _would_ _have._ It could implode at any moment.

They had to wait, had to wait until the equipment they set up began to pick up readings. They could only narrow it down to a single room. However, it was better than the alternative. It was easier than searching an entire cottage with two floors and a dusty attic.

The Woodland Sprite wandered about, from room to room, mumbling to himself. Eventually, the small creature gave up and left them alone in the house. Where he ran off to, they had no idea. Not that it really mattered at the moment.

There came another vision, a clearer one than the rest. The Doctor saw himself, the Twelfth Doctor, in one of the other places. His hair was longer, wilder. He was older. He hid behind what looked to be a wall of some sort. It struck The Doctor with curiosity and, for a moment, he set the device in his hand aside.

Was his other self hiding? He wasn’t so sure. Clara was there with him. _The other Clara._ Clara, his Clara, in his own dimension, was sat beside him and gazing curiously at the pair.

“Is that what I look like when I get older?” she asked, brows rising. “I don’t look half bad.”

Immediately, his brows rose and his eyes went rolling. He watched, in mild panic, as the _other him_ kissed _his Clara_. They were older, had obviously been together longer.

She held onto him so tightly, so sweetly, her fingers latched onto the lapels of his coat. It was a long kiss — a _sexy_ kiss. There was a comfort in it that told The Doctor it hadn't been their first, and it wouldn’t be their last. It left The Doctor yearning for something he’d never felt worthy of having before. His chest ached.

Things seemed to get a bit heated. Where were they, anyway? The walls seemed a bit more defined now. It was her flat, he soon realized, through the blue, smoky haze. She had him pressed up against the wall, their tongues dancing together and entangling.

It made The Doctor think back to when he’d healed her, when his hands had grazed her belly. He could only swallow, damning himself for such a _Human_ reaction.

Clara Oswald was his weakness and she didn’t even know it.

“I feel like… I… Okay.” Her words were garbled, hesitant. Clara turned away from what was happening in front of them, feeling a bit guilty for _watching._

“That’s _us,”_ he said, almost idiotically. She pinched the bridge of her nose before uttering a clipped, “Yes. That’s definitely _us.”_

It was agony, in a way. It was torment for him. Seeing another _him_ kiss her, knowing one of the other versions of _her_ was currently kissing back. He was suddenly struck stupid. Struck with astonishment, amazement. “Clara—” He cleared his throat. “Clara, you’re taking my clothes off.”

There was such _innocence_ in his voice, such naivety. That couldn’t be real, could it? And yet, it _was._ He was The Doctor, after all. Oblivious and stupid and so amazingly _wonderful._

The look she shot him was something that had the power to topple whole countries and overthrow entire governments. She yanked him by the arm to turn his body away, then she dared to speak. “Stop looking, yeah?” she told him firmly.

She wanted to _slap_ him. How _dare_ he watch them and _not_ kiss her just like that.

How much more obvious could she be? She could flirt _at_ him, gaze his way, practically beg him to kiss her. She knew, by the way he looked at her sometimes, that he wanted her as well. What was stopping him?

Or had he decided she wasn’t worth the trouble?

“I’m a good kisser,” he pointed out, an innocence _and_ an obvious smugness evident in his voice. Just like his eleventh incarnation. Some things never change.

A beat or two passed before Clara spoke. “Are you?” she asked. “I wouldn’t know.” And then, to herself, she muttered, “Apparently the other me knows. Quite well.”


	9. Chapter 9

Together, they made for the cellar stairs, knowing that they had to get down to the basement to check the plethora of readings from the TARDIS’ interface — where The Doctor had moved and parked his beloved ship — and to check the equipment he had set up downstairs. It might give them some indication as to _which room_ the Scaphe was hidden in.

The next “vision” that they were greeted with was less than wonderful. It was a Universe _without_ Clara Oswald, a place where he was alone, brooding, and missing her. Clearly he was suffering quite badly from it.

Clara and The Doctor were standing on the stairwell when they saw it. It was too personal — somehow more personal than seeing them kissing one another or making love. This was something she’d never been meant to see. Something she never should have seen.

The other Doctor, the Twelfth Doctor from _the other place,_ was sat on a bed of grass and autumn leaves, knelt down beside a gravestone. “Clara Oswald,” it read on the stone’s face. He was clutching something in his hands, some small trinket. It took Clara a moment to notice what it was — _a ring._ Perhaps it was a ring that he’d always meant to give her, but never had the chance.

“Doctor,” Clara suddenly said. “Don’t look. Please don’t look.”

Without hesitation, Clara took his face in her hands. She turned his attention back to her, trying to keep his gaze from the _other him_.

“Look at me, instead,” she said softly, no hesitation in her voice whatsoever. He needed to be guided back to the present. They had dimensions to save.

She let go of the Doctor’s face, bringing his hands to her own and holding them. “Don’t focus on that,” she mumbled softly, “focus on me.” She placed his warm hands on her cheeks. They were so large that he found himself brushing her brunette tresses.

There was an unspoken understanding, one that had lingered from earlier when they’d first seen Eleven and _the other Clara._

“But you’re dead,” he said softly, expression dazed and groggy. “In the other place, you aren’t with me anymore, Clara. You’re gone. And I almost lost you the other day… I had to give you my regeneration energy. I... almost lost you here as well. What if I’m not fast enough next time? Where if there’s nothing I can do to save you the next time? Gods know it’ll come, sooner or later. It always does.”

She sat him down gently, bravely standing in front of him and almost forcing him to keep his attention on _her_ and not on the _other Doctor._ “But not here,” she said. “I’m still here with you. I’m not ever going anywhere. Not if I can help it.”

She was standing between his thighs, her hands on his shoulders. It was sweet, _gentle._

_“But, Clara—”_

She hushed him, doing something then that she’d never done before. She crossed a line between them. For once, she didn’t care. She wasn’t afraid. There was no need to be. She knew exactly how he felt about her. If anything, that’s what today — and their other selves — had shown her.

She placed his hand on her chest, pressing his palm to the fabric of her blouse and letting him feel her pulse beneath his touch. “This is _me,_ Doctor,” she told him softly. “Me, alive, real. Right now, right here in front of you. I’m with you, and I’ll fight like hell to keep our lives that way for as long as I possibly can. That’s a _promise_ I intend to keep.”

His eyes drifted about her features, slightly taken aback by whatever had come over her. She saw his eyes drop from her features to her chest, where she’d placed his fingers and palm. It was intimate, personal. _Tender._

“Clara,” he began, “why is your heart beating so fast? Are you feeling alright?”

She took a breath before bravely responding to her naive, oblivious Doctor. “Because your hand is on my chest,” she confessed in a whisper. “Because you’re touching me.” It was as obvious, as plain as she could ever be with him.

_I fancy you, Doctor Idiot._

What more could she say?

“Do I make you nervous?” he suddenly asked, knowing full well what was _actually_ happening between them right now. She gave him a quizzical look, refusing to answer and simply dropping her hand away from his, from where it had been holding his to her chest. He was a lost cause. _This thing_ between them was probably a lost cause.

Much to her own surprise, his fingers stayed where they were. His hand didn’t fall away like hers had mere moments before. “Clara, I—” He stopped himself, the fingers of his free hand reaching out to her as well. They landed bravely on her waist, the others lowering to do the same.

She swore she saw stars for a moment. It was amazing what a simple touch could do to her. She was all but unraveling at the seams for him.

“What were you going to say?” she asked, her voice betraying her in the way it wavered for him.

He was drawing her closer, between his thighs, and she seized the opportunity to wind her fingers through his unkempt, curly tresses. Just a moment of intimacy in the midst of all this chaos felt so good.

_Was this really happening?_

“I was just going to tell you,” he began, “that I’m not sure I could exist in a Universe where you aren’t alive and by my side.” He might as well have just said, ‘I love you with all my hearts, Clara Oswald.’ It left her breathless. At a loss.

She nudged him backwards, stepping closer and slipping right into his lap there on the staircase. Her knees came to rest on either side of his hips. She heard his breath catch, saw the way his eyes fell to watch.

The hollow projection, the hollow _vision_ from the other place was gone now. Neither of them even noticed.  They were so caught up in one another, so lost in the moment and close to one another. They were sharing body heat, sharing breaths.

“Are you going to kiss me, Clara Oswald?” His voice was low, gravelly. There was _hope_ in his tone. She _felt_ it in her very bones. Memories of earlier, seeing their other selves kissing, began to flood back to him. And her.

“Yes, I think I am,” she eventually replied. Leaning down to him, she laid her lips just over his for a long, slow kiss. She lingered there with him, eyes fluttering closed. It was gentle, _loving._

All at once, the mood seemed to change. Years of longing, since he’d worn a different face, came to the surface. He deepened the kiss, fingers grasping and caressing. She was helpless to it all. His tongue parted her lips, sweeping over hers in such a possessive manner. It was nothing like she’d expected. It was _sexy._

The sound that fell from her lips, a mere soft moan, was a reminder. He came-to, slowly drawing away from her. “We can’t,” he said softly. “We can’t do this right now. We have dimensions to save, Clara.”

The gravity of the situation slowly sunk in for them.  
  
“I know, Doctor,” came her feeble response as her fingers wound through and through his wild curls. He pressed his lips to her jugular, as if to mark his territory one last time before they drew away, unsteadily rising to their feet.

“We need to find the Scaphe. It’s somewhere in this house,” he began slowly, as if still in a haze from their heated kisses. If they _weren’t_ in trouble right now, and on a clock, he would press her to the wall and do _everything_ he’d only ever dreamt of before.

But, alas, saving the Universe — or Universes, in this case — always came first.


	10. Chapter 10

Down in the basement was where they found it. They hadn’t returned upstairs yet. Hadn’t even finished checking the equipment and its readings. It was odd, really. So completely and utterly out of place. 

“Doctor,” Clara called to him, a bit out of breath. “I think I’ve found it!” 

He came running within moments, coming face to face with a rather shocked Clara. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes wide. It was so very rare to bear witness to, but there was honest fear in her eyes. And it pained him to see it.

In the dusty cellar, resting between wine barrels there was a caramel-colored armoire. Everything in her being, every cell, every fibre, told her  _ that  _ was it. It was the Time Scaphe. 

“Why are they  _ always  _ in a basement?” he asked, absently, whilst tapping his chin and trying his best to decide  _ what to do.  _

The door to the armoire was ajar, unlocked, and the Doctor cast a weary glance Clara’s way before asking her to take a step away. “Let me do this,” he merely said. All at once, the mood in the room changed. Obediently —  _ for once _ — she complied easily and took a few steps back. As far away from the armoire as the narrow cellar would allow, much to his satisfaction. 

Inside, he saw an empty small Console Room, sparks flying and wires hanging about. It was, indeed, the Scaphe. He nodded to Clara, impressed as ever with her keen eye, and said slowly, “Go back to the TARDIS. Should anything go wrong, I just want you to be safe. Do that for me, will you, please, Clara? Stay there. Close the doors.” 

Again, she did as was asked of her. But not before reaching out for  _ her _ Doctor and clasping his hand. Her fingers were smaller, warmer as they grasped his, her thumb running along his bony knuckles. “Come back to me in one piece,” she begged of him in a soft voice. But then she was gone, wandering off to head to the TARDIS for safety. 

This was Time Lord technology.  _ His people’s technology.  _ He knew what he was doing, for the most part, and she trusted that. She would respect his wishes. He only wanted to protect her. That meant the Universe to her. He  _ loved  _ her, with all his hearts. 

A gentle hand grazed her side, idly brushing the place where she had been shot by a blaster rifle. The place where he had  _ healed  _ her with his regeneration energy. His own  _ magic.  _

_ Of course he loved her.  _

_ How hadn’t she seen it before?  _

Back in the Scaphe, the Doctor was struggling to put the control panel back together in some sort of order, just to send her off for a proper ending in the Universe somewhere. 

He remembered this with another woman, bits and pieces, but it all felt wrong. It felt  _ off.  _ He was remembering backwards. He remembered a woman named Hattie, going through something similiar with her, but the timeline of events was wrong. He was remembering his  _ future.  _

That was the trouble with being a Time Lord. 

_ Timey wimey issues.  _

With a frustrated grumble, he reconnected the Axon Circuitry and Sonic’ed the pieces to stay in place for him. Bit of a quick fix, but he’d have to make do at a time like now. He didn’t have the extravagance nor the leisure of extra tools or time. 

_ Get back to Clara. Get back to Clara. Get back to Clara before it’s too late.  _ The words kept ringing through his mind. He needed to do this. He needed to save Earth and he needed to make it back to her. Safely. 

“Yes!” He shouted the words as the computer came alive. His fingers flew across the keyboard’s buttons, typing in the coordinates for a neutron star’s birth — the first one he could recall. Yes. Yes, perfect. Neutron stars are created when giant stars die in  _ supernovae _ and their cores collapse, with the protons and electrons essentially melting into each other to form neutrons. It would be appropriate and beautiful and  _ breathtaking.  _ Everything that a Scaphe deserved. 

At that moment he was shot backwards when a particularly nasty spark flared. He fell back, landing rather hard upon the floor. He was reeling. It took his breath away, leaving him groaning and aching. He could only lie there for a moment before trying his best to rise to his feet. 

He had to do this, and he had to finish this now. There was no time.

Scuffed boots were loud on the Scaphe’s floor as he rose to his feet, hands grasping the control panel’s edge. “What would Irving do if he were here?” the Doctor asked himself. What  _ would  _ his brother do? What would he suggest? 

That’s when it hit him. 

“Of course!” he all but shouted. A few twists of some knobs, eyes closed, and he began tapping into his telepathic abilities. Everything began to still in the Scaphe. How could he ever have forgotten? When Scaphes were created, so many years ago, Time Lords were in the height of telepathy and the ability to use their minds in such ways. 

In that moment, he found himself discovering new abilities. Telepathic abilities. Ones he never knew that he possessed. And he sent of the Time Scaphe for the neutron star. He jumped from the ship mere moments before she dematerialized. 

He took off for a run, lanky limbs flying around as he went. He made his way around to the staircase, running right  _ through  _ his ninth incarnation — a blue-tinged vision that crackled with fresh arton energy. 

The visions, the other dimensional views, would begin to fade now. Now that the Scaphe was gone. He stopped at the stairs, stunned by something. It was another vision of himself,  _ this version of himself,  _ and he was stepping out of something.  _ His other self  _ knelt down on the ground, sand slipping through his fingers. But sand from where? Where was he? 

As clearly as if he was really there to listen to his other self, he heard, “If you think because she is dead I am weak then you understand very little. If you were any part of killing her, and you're not afraid then you understand nothing at all.” He’d paused before continuing, “So, for your own sake, understand this, I am the Doctor. I'm coming to find you and I will never ever stop.” 

_ Another version  _ of himself that loses Clara. He squeezed his eyes shut, drew in a breath, and flung himself up the staircase. Not today.  _ Not today.  _

He ran for his life, _for_ _all his lives,_ and made it out of the cottage. The grass was green and dewy and the sky was blue and beautiful. Everything was safe now. He’d managed to save the day again, but now he _needed_ his Clara. He needed to show her just how much she really meant to him, how much she had  _always_ meant to him.

Something stopped him mid-run. One last vision, something blurred at the edge of his line of sight. He skidded to a stop, turning in absolute terror to gaze away from the TARDIS to give it a glance. Dare he even turn around? He had to. He  _ knew _ that he had to. He recognized a voice. Something from his past, from his future, the time in-between. He heard Ohila’s voice.  _ Why?  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have touched on quite a few subjects in this story. Year Two of the Twelfth Doctor’s comics included a companion named Hattie, and one of their adventures together included finding a TARDIS and sending it off to a proper end. It takes place AFTER Clara, which is why he's remembering his FUTURE and not his PAST. Worth the read, for sure. You don’t necessarily need to read the comics to understand this fic, but it might help. They were brilliant. Sorry for the big plot twist, too. Incase it isn’t obvious, I should say, this ISN’T the reality in which the Doctor loses Clara. This isn’t the reality that we see in the television series. Boom. What he saw towards the end of this chapter was his other self stuck in his Confession Dial.


	11. Chapter 11

_“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” — C.S. Lewis._

* * *

He saw Ohila, who he assumed was a female regeneration of the General, a guard. All from  _the other place._ It was fuzzy, blurry, but he heard the words as easily as if he’d truly been standing there beside them.

On the ground, he was beside Clara. He was on his knees. What was he doing exactly? And then she  _spoke._

“How long was the Doctor trapped inside the Confession Dial?” she asked. Then her eyes floated to Ohila and the General. The former abruptly said, “We think… four and a half billion years.”

Clara’s eyes went wide, but the General began speaking. “He could have left any time he wanted. He just had to say what he knew. The dial would have released him.”  
  
He watched the  _other Clara_ as she turned back to the Doctor, a Doctor who loved her so very much to put himself through Hell, and she sank to her knees before him, uttering a muffled, “Four and a half billion years?”

He knew then. This was a dangerous game he was playing. He would go to the ends of the Earth, of Gallifrey, even to the ends of the Universe, just to save her. To have her again. To keep her whole and happy and safe.

What was he  _doing?_

He watched her drop to her knees and knock his shoulders with two frantic hands. She was crying, staring at him in utter disbelief. He heard them say words, confess things, perhaps that they should have years ago. Down in the Cloisters, her voice lowered, she was honest and loving and tender. And yet brutal about it all too, because she had to be, because she was living between one heartbeat and her last, and it was all she had. She had to give it her all. Time was a  _precious_ thing.

Love was ruthless. Love was tender. Love was brutal. Delicate.

Love was  _complicated._

Just then, Clara’s head popped out of the TARDIS’ door. “Doctor? Come on! What are you doing?”

Finally, he began to breathe again. He cast a long look her way before stepping around the arton energy-tinged visions and ran. He ran and ran and ran —  _because it was what he was good at._

He ran right past his Fourth self, past the Brigadier. He ran around the Second Doctor and then threw himself into the TARDIS. Clara was there, waiting for him with wide, worried eyes.

He closed the door behind himself, only to be swept inside and into Clara’s arms. She held him tightly, taking him by surprise and winding her petite arms around his shoulders. “I was so worried about you, Doctor,” she said, a lump forming in her throat. She almost began to cry.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” he said slowly, a hand tentatively coming down to cup her lower back.

He shouldn’t do this. He knew it was wrong. He shouldn’t get himself involved. He stood a chance now, if he never kissed her again. If he never made love to her. He stood a chance if he kept her at arm’s length. He stood a chance against the inevitable. He would lose her one day. The only question was if he would do what his other selves had done.

She answered the question for him, almost, as she drew away and cupped his face. “You’re so far away,” she said quietly. “Come back to me.  _Please._ Look at me, Doctor. What did you see outside?”

His eyes fell to her features, a soft sigh erupting from his lips. “It’s nothing, Clara.” He pulled away, as much as it broke his hearts to do so. Off he went to the control panel and he began typing in coordinates.

“Where are we going?” she asked, turning towards his back to watch frantic fingers typing away at the keyboards on the console panel. He stung her. Her heart ached to see him withdraw like he used to, when he’d first had this face.

“Where I sent the Scaphe. It’ll be beautiful. The Crab Pulsar is a relatively young neutron star. It’s the central star in the Crab Nebula, in fact, which is a remnant of the supernova SN 1054,” he told her. “We should have quite a view in store for us. The Crab Pulsar’s birth was… extraordinary.”

Not ten minutes later they were both sat, side by side, at the edge of the TARDIS. The doors were open, their feet dangling. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly, her eyes lingering on the gorgeous colors and the flash of bright golden light in the center of it all, from the Time Scaphe. What a breath-taking sight.

He turned to her then. Something else that was beautiful, really.

Without missing a beat, her eyes still resting on the neutron star’s birth, she asked, “We kissed, Doctor. Are we ever going to talk about that?”

He didn’t say anything. So, instead, she continued.

“Because I’d very much like it to happen again,” she told him nervously, fingers worrying away at a thread on her leggings. “And, I think, judging by the way you kissed me back, you’d like it happen again as well. Am I right?”

She turned to gaze his way, a brow arched. “If we’re together in… all of those other places, those other dimensions, don’t you think we’re missing something  _here?”_ Then, in a tone much softer, she added, “I don’t want to miss out on something good.”

She held his gaze, as bravely as one could, and noted the way he swallowed hard. On a gusty sigh, he merely murmured, “Oh, you impossible girl…”   
  
He visibly crumbled. He wanted this. He wanted  _her._

“You told me that you wouldn’t want to  _exist_ in a place where I wasn’t with you, right by your side. Don’t you think we should… enjoy this, whatever it is, while we can?”

She turned to him, cupping his face gently and slowly bringing her lips to his. He didn’t move away, didn’t ask her to stop. It was  _wrong_ and he knew it, but he also wanted her more than he’d ever craved anything in all of his past lives.  _More than Rose. Somehow even more than River._

_But who could quantify love? No one._

But if there’s one thing he’d learned over his long years, it was that he held the capacity to love and love and love, and keep loving. And he also held the capacity to hate and hate and hate. Perhaps it was time to  _love._

She kissed him tenderly and he found himself falling for her, as if he hadn’t before. All over again. His lips began to return the gesture, eyebrows rising. He kissed her with a muted passion, with a love that was boundless. His lips were soft, slow, sensual. Exploring. It was _beautiful._

With the doors open, his feet dangling over the edge, she laid him back against the Console Room’s floor. He didn’t protest, only wound his arms around her like he’d wanted to for so long. A petite hand landed on his chest, feeling the thud of his hearts beneath her palm, as their lips parted and she drew away for breath.

“If you didn’t love me,” she said softly, “you wouldn’t kiss me  _like that.”_

His hearts felt like they blossomed in that one, enormous moment. “As if I’ve ever made it a secret,” he whispered in reply, a bit shocked by his sudden bravery. But really, was he wrong?

A few memories came to mind for her.

_I never said it was your mistake._

_Do you think I care for you so little, that betraying me would make a difference?_

_Clara Oswald. I want Clara Oswald, safe, alive, and returned to me immediately. You bring her back. You do that. You do that now. Unharmed. Unhurt. Alive._

_Because, if Clara is really dead, then you better be very, very careful how you tell me._

_Same old, same old. Just the Doctor and Clara Oswald in the TARDIS._

_I’ll come back for you, I swear._

_Immortality isn’t living forever. That’s not what it feels like. Immortality is everybody else dying. She might meet someone she can’t bear to lose. That happens. I believe._

_I’ve missed you, Clara Oswald._

In that moment, she understood. There were more ways to say, “I love you” than just the three little words. And he’d been saying them all along, and she just hadn’t  _heard_ him properly.

_“Doctor…”_

She slowly moved closer, breaths hitched nervously, even as she bent again to take his lips in a searing kiss. His hands roamed, one of them eventually coming round to slip beneath her blouse.

Beautiful things were happening outside of the TARDIS. The Time Scaphe was imploding, an entire spectrum of colors were flowing and bursting and painting the sky. But inside, the Doctor felt the same way. He felt like that. He felt  _alive._

Delicate hands began to unbutton his waistcoat, their tongues entangling. It was much gentler than before, when they’d been in the basement, and perhaps that’s what they both needed the most right now:  _tenderness._

“What’re you doing?” he asked softly, all at once feeling her soft, warm fingers on his chest as she moved to unbutton his wrinkled white shirt. Her skin on his sent electricity coursing through him, leaving him gasping quietly against her lips.

“What I should have done a long time ago,” he heard her whisper, her lips traveling along his jaw and down to his exposed throat. She’d never seen so much skin from him. He was something to marvel. All pale and delicate and lean. Hard and rigid where she was soft and malleable. His torso was beautiful to her.

His neck arched, jaw falling slack. His eyes momentarily drifted outside, to watch an array of colors and light dance about in the midst of the neutron star’s birth and the Scaphe’s fitting end. Her breaths were ragged, anxious, and surely she could feel his desire, pressed up against her side.

How did this happen? And so easily?

All at once, she rid him of his jacket, unbuttoned waistcoat, and shirt. It left him bare, utterly exposed to her gaze. As gorgeous as ever.

He hid behind layers. Layers and layers and layers, just to keep himself safe. But here he was, ready to shed each and every one of them, both literally and figuratively, to allow himself to be  _happy._ To love is to be vulnerable.

She twisted, turning her body to slip into his lap. He was lost, in that moment, to watch her swing a leg over his hip. She sat astride him, knees locked at either side of his hips, and caught his gaze. For a moment, they just stared at one another.

He leant up on his elbows, watching as she slowly began to undress for him. His breath caught in his throat, as did hers.

The moment she slipped out of her blouse, he found himself utterly at a loss. His breath was stolen, eyes growing wide with awe. She took his hands, guided them to her bare ribs. He needed a bit of coaxing, not that she could blame him. He’d seen  _something,_  she knew. Outside, earlier, before they’d left Ireland.

“I’ve wanted  _these hands_ on my body for so long,” she confessed to him, her eyes locking with his and holding his gaze. She was  _courageous._

His hands slipped higher, roaming around to her back as he pulled himself up to sit. Calloused fingers trailed along her warm skin, as if to memorize each and every blemish, every nick, every scar, every smooth plane, before unclasping her lacy bra.

“Do you even know how it feels?” he asked softly, lips trailing warm, open-mouthed kisses across her bare shoulder as he let her bra fall into the ever-growing pile of cotton and silk. “When I healed you, I thought I was going to lose you. Do you know what that feels like? I felt like half of myself was being torn away, Clara.”

He held her a little tighter, a little sweeter, and brought a hand down to slowly coax her hips to rock with his. He needed the friction, needed the reminder that she was, in fact, real and sitting here in his lap.

“I’ve thought I lost you so many times that I’ve stopped keeping track,” she suddenly blurted out, gasping softly at the sensation of his hips against hers.

They made love there, right on the floor of his Console Room. He let her be on top. He let her guide their bodies. He let her decide how tender or rough they should be. There would be time for everything else later on. They climaxed together, all whimpers and moans and soft sighs. All  _perfection._

And when it was all over, when they fell back to lie on the floor, his coat and shirt beneath them to keep them somewhat comfortable, he allowed a hand to tuck beneath her head and draw her closer. She swung a leg over the Doctor’s, comforted by the gentle buzzing of the TARDIS beneath them, as if she was genuinely, truly content with she and the Doctor’s decision to take their relationship a step further.

Her nose bumped his neck playfully, voice soft and low. “Doctor… You’ve told me in every way except one. Will you tell me you love me, please? I just want to hear the words. It’s been… a long day.”

There was a rumble in his chest, a soft chuckle of amusement, and he turned his head gently to brush a pair of warm lips across her brow. “I love you, Clara Oswald. You’ve saved me, in so many ways. I love you for each and every one of them.”

Her hand found his pale chest, a finger tapping at his sternum, “I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you this before, but I like every once of your faces. Because they’re  _you._ I look at them and I see  _you._ You’re all I see now, all I want to see, and I’m sorry that it took me so long to see you inside. But this face… this face is my favorite.”

He kissed her then. Long and slow and with abandon. Because he knew he could. Because he knew they could be happy together, for however long they had. Because life had to slow down once in a while.

She made him  _want_ to be the man she saw. The good man. The idiot with a box. The raggedy man, as he’d once been called. The one who was  _kind,_ above all. 


	12. Epilogue

Months passed. Long, amazing months. They spent the nights’ lost in one another’s arms, dozing and stealing away tender moments, and they spent the days going on adventures together or (much to his dismay and her surprise) learning how to be a normal, domestic couple, tucked away in her flat. He even picked her up from Coal Hill School a few times.

Then the call came.

_Rigsy._

But he’d been expecting this. He knew it would come. And it finally had.

The moment they hung up the TARDIS' phone with Rigsy, he turned back around to Clara and said, “I know what we’re doing, and I know where we’re going. I just need you to promise me one thing.”

The mystery of it all was still lost on her. She was only worried about her friend. “What’s that?” she asked, at a loss now, but reaching out for his hand all the same.

He took the gentlest of steps closer before saying, _“Do not take this on your own shoulders. Debts will always need to be paid. We need to find Ashildr. She has the answers. Stick by my side. Do_ nothing _without first asking me. Just this once, do that for me. I’ve seen bits and pieces of this from the other dimensions, when we took care of the Time Scaphe. Destiny can’t be avoided, I suppose. So… Listen to me. Carefully. I can’t lose you here, Clara Oswald. Do whatever I ask."_

Can Fate itself be avoided? Surely they would soon find out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed reading this story as much as I truly enjoyed writing it. It was probably one of my favorites and I'm so proud to have finished it and I know I'm going to miss working on it. Let me know what you lot thought. Lots of love to my faithful readers and reviewers. Thank you so much for being so lovely and supportive.


End file.
